


Devote

by pearl_o



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Agnostic Character, Canon Disabled Character, Established Relationship, M/M, Post Beach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-05
Updated: 2012-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-28 23:25:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/313322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearl_o/pseuds/pearl_o
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles has never been a religious man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devote

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yahtzee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yahtzee/gifts).



> Written as comment fic for the prompt _cathedral, snow, whisper_.

Charles has never been a religious man. He wasn't brought up, in his youth, in a way where the rituals and traditions were ever a meaningful part of his life, and as an adult he's never sought to change that. The existence of God is a hypothesis that's neither provable nor disprovable, and so the scientist within him can't help but find it uninteresting.

He's touched the minds of those who _are_ religious, though, many times over the years. There are plenty who use their faith as an excuse for ignorance or exclusion, but certainly not everybody. There's a beauty in many minds that always makes him catch his breath when he comes across it: the singular sense of devotion, and awe, that the human mind feels when it comes close to the divine.

Charles has felt something like that feeling himself, but it's never been inspired by the holy. When Charles has felt that quiet, consuming stillness, it's always been caused by people. Visiting Europe as a youth, Raven at his side, standing in the middle of a cool and shadowed cathedral - staring up at the Gothic arches, and thinking about the craftsmen who put together, piece by piece, something so massive and beautiful. Reading poetry, coming across a line or a phrase that seems to pause time with how perfectly it fits. The perfect logic and cleverness of a particularly brilliant mathematical proof.

People, and the beauty they're capable of creating: that's the closest Charles has to a faith, a dogma.

He's never before thought himself an evangelist, and the mantle fits him awkwardly. And yet, so he finds himself, now, hopeful even in the face of failure. He sees Erik every few months, perhaps, sometimes less. He debates him over chessboards, whispers to him in their anonymous hotel beds.

It's snowing in New York, the first snow of the season, and he is three blocks away from the restaurant where Erik awaits him. He navigates his wheelchair through the crowds, but most of his attention is on Erik, whose mind is so much more brighter, more vivid than the strangers around. Erik is cold, his gloves and leather jacket too thin for the weather, and he is cranky, glaring daggers at everyone who passes. But both of those things fade somewhat to the background when he catches Charles at the edge of his line of sight.

Charles has never witnessed that same stillness in Erik's mind - he wonders sometimes if Erik has closed himself off too much already, to ever feel even that momentary peace, but he can't really believe it. The closest Erik's mind has come has been those quiet moments between the two of them, when he looks at Charles as if he's something so much better, more precious than he truly is.

Charles has seen the best that Erik is capable of; no matter how much happens between them, he still thinks he will some day show Erik that as well.


End file.
